


my (not) American boy

by ironiccowboykink (orphan_account)



Category: If that’s even what it’s called, Miraculous Ladybug, Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir
Genre: Enjoy my erratic and stilted behavior, F/M, I write things to cope, chloes a bitch duh, heres however many words of me coping, im also a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: An American girl transfers to Marinette’s high school— for all her bitchyness, she has some allure. That, and she’s a walking time-bomb just begging to be Akumatized.Here’s my self insert. Here’s how I cope.





	my (not) American boy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Muse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523002) by [khywa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/khywa/pseuds/khywa). 



Marinette watched curiously as a girl plopped her book bag and then promptly herself on an empty bench, an expression bordering on passively furious on her face. Her music was audible, beat thumping and lyrics screaming incomprehensibly. 

Marinette was sure if it was any louder, her head would start vibrating.

She acknowledged Mrs. Bustier when she walked in but made no move to quiet her music, and looked rather bored with the lesson. _I hope she won’t be a problem,_ Marinette thought worriedly, fiddling with her earrings. 

“Interested in the new girl, huh?” 

Marinette startled, knee jerking up into her table. She turned to glare at Alya after sheepishly smiling at the class and Mrs. Bustier, whispering, “Don’t scare me like that! And yeah, I am. Who is she?”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows, leaning in conspiratorially. “Her name is Denny.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow of her own in disbelief. “Denny?”

“Yeah, she’s American. She moved over here recently and by the looks of it, she’s not very happy about it.”

Marinette eyed the new girl again. Her black hair was curly and tied up in a loose bun, some strands falling about her face. She certainly looked American; Denny wore a jean jacket with a rose on the back and a striped black and white crop top, exposing a strip of her belly— Marinette hoped she wasn’t cold— and her jeans were ripped and had sequins on them? 

Whatever they were, she was flipping them back and forth with her hand so they’d change color. Her boots were scuffed and loosely tied. 

She had style, Marinette could admit that.

“She’s really pretty,” Marinette said after a moment of analyzation; she meant it, too, especially when the light highlighted her dark skin. Marinette smiled shyly at Alya. “I could paint a picture.”

Her friend nudged her shoulder, snickering behind her hand. “Maybe she should come eat lunch with us. Y’know, since she’s new and all. You should invite her over.”

“M—me? Why?”

Alya shrugged. “You’re the nicest, and you speak English best. Heard she doesn’t speak a lick of French.”

“I—“ before Marinette could respond, _Then why would she go to school here?_ Mrs. Bustier slammed her hand on the table.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Mrs. Dupain Cheng?”

Marinette sank a little lower in her chair, sweeping her gaze around the room. Denny had turned around, and Marinette’s heart jolted a little in her chest when she caught her eyes; lidded, disinterested, and sharpened by expertly drawn eyeliner. Even Chloé didn’t wear eyeliner.

“Um, n—no,” she stuttered, forcing herself to look back at the teacher and ignore the quiet giggling around the room. “I’m, uh, I don’t— you know, personal stuff! Haha oooh why did I say that I mean, uh, no. I have nothing to share, nothing at all.”  
Marinette punctuated the stupidest ramble of her life with one perfectly timed slap to the forehead that resonated with the bell ringing outside the classroom doors.

“You’re dismissed.” Mrs. Bustier turned to erase the board. “Watch yourself, Mrs. Dupain Cheng.”

Denny was already out the door.

Marinette responded, “Yes, Mrs. Bustier,” and scurried out after.  
————  
The American girl did not look happy. 

She didn’t seem to ever look happy, but now she was cornered by Chloé and Sabrina and a small crowd.

“So what’s with the get up?” Chloé mocked, a malicious smile on her face. “Do you ever take those headphones off?”

Denny simply stared back, eyebrow furrowing slowly with anger. She moved her headphones off one ear and said, “Sorry, were you talking me to? My headphones tend to filter out bullshit from blonde bimbos.”

Sabrina and Chloé exchanged a bewildered look; they clearly weren’t expecting her to respond, let alone like that— but Denny was already opening her mouth to say more.

“What’s your name again, Barbie Doll?”

Another look. “Uh, my name is Chloé. Chloé Bourgeois. You should know that by now.”

Denny scoffed, her scowl growing darker. “You act as if you’re important enough to remember. The only reason I’ll remember you is because your lipstick is too light for your face and doesn’t match your eyeshadow,” she spat, “which is ugly and poorly applied, by the way.” She took a step forward, fists clenched at her side. “The only reason I’ll remember you is because you and your pinhead daddy are probably the richest people in Paris, and still you can’t fix all that ugly.”

She snarled angrily, opening her mouth as if about to say something else before realizing she was shouting, choking off on her words as she looked about the crowd who was silent with shock, then at Chloé with widened eyes.

“I—“ Denny began, steeling her face to relative impassivity. “I—“

“You’re… crazy,” Chloé said, taking a step back from her. “The new girl is crazy.”

Her lips pressed in a thin line. “I’m not—“

“I didn’t even say anything to you and you said something so hurtful—“ Chloé dabbed at her eyes with a napkin Sabrina produced for her, and the tension in Denny’s shoulders eased.

“You’re just trying to rile me up again.” Her voice took on a dispassionate tone, but the creases in her brows belied her anger. “I’m leaving.”

The students parted for her as she stormed past, and suddenly Marinette felt guilty for not saying anything. That’s how Chloé treated her on her first day back here and she just stood by and watched Chloé be the bully she is. It’s her job to protect Paris; why can’t she protect the students at her school?

Besides, the calmer people are, the less material Hawkmoth has to work with. And she doesn’t know anything about Denny anyway, so talking her down wouldn’t be an option...

Alya snorted next to her, but when Marinette looked she seemed just as concerned. “At least we know she speaks French now.”

Marinette elbowed her in the ribs.  
———  
Marinette found Denny on the steps of the school, sketching. She looked neutral, but by the scribbled out doodles in her sketchbook she wasn’t _feeling_ neutral.

“I’m sorry about Chloé,” she began, seating herself down beside Denny.

Denny didn’t say anything, just looked at her out the corner of her eye and packed her things up. “I’m sure you are, but you also stood there with everyone else.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, until Marinette tried and Denny interrupted: “Not that I expected you to. Chloé’s kind of a bitch.”

She tried to suppress a smile and said, “Well, I wouldn’t say that. But she is really mean.”

Denny wasn’t smiling back, but she looked less ready to stab a hole in the nearest object with her pencil now, which was certainly an improvement. She looked as severe as she had when she walked in, but now that Marinette could see her up close she mostly looked tired. 

“Are you okay?”

The girl scoffed, shooting to her feet with a languid stretch. “Nope! Not at all.”

Marinette’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “O—oh, well, uh—“

“That was a joke, lady.”

“Oh. I knew that.”

Marinette scrambled up after Denny, who was already making her way inside. “So do you maybe wanna hang out with me and Alya later?”

Denny shot her a look before saying, “...No? I don’t know you.”

Her face flushed red— she hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly. She looked down, fiddling with her fingers. “Oh, that’s okay too.”

“Maybe lunch.” Denny shrugged, and then walked off.  
—-  
“And she just said no, Alya!” Marinette wailed. “It was so embarrassing!” She covered her face with her palms, face burning with heat.

“But she agreed to have lunch with us, so what’s the problem?”  
“She probably thinks I’m a creep!”

Alya nodded solemnly. “Yeah, she probably does. But you can fix that!” She gave Marinette’s shoulders a gentle shake, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her friend’s theatrics. “It’ll be just fine, Marinette! Plus, she’s probably going to be coming over in a few minutes anyway, so save the drama.”

“It’s like Adrien all over again.” She slumped forlornly over Alya, pouting. 

“What’s like me all over again?” 

Marinette screeched in surprise, toppling over the bench she was sitting on. Alya sighed and clicked her tongue, offering Marinette a hand. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Adrien smiled softly, bemused, and Marinette was thankful her face wasn’t flushing harder. “I saw you talking to the new girl. Denny, right? Were things alright with her?”

Alya looked to Marinette who shrugged sheepishly. “She’s kind of… standoffish, and aloof. When I went to talk to her she was drawing, but put everything away when I sat down. And then I asked her to hang later and she said no. She didn’t even hesitate! That was so embarrassing, ugh.” Marinette could feel her blush returning as she recalled the moment, lip wobbling. 

“I’m pretty nice once you get to know me.” 

All three heads whipped around to see who spoke, and Marinette really turned tomato red this time— Alya smiled hesitantly and Adrien gave a small wave. 

Denny was leaning coolly on a shelf, a small tote slung over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable. “That’s just my opinion, of course. I’m really rather affectionate.”

Marinette asked, “H—how long have you been standing there?”

She didn’t answer, only giving Marinette a meaningful look. After making her way over to the bench she was sitting at, the girl looked around the library appreciatively before settling on Marinette. “You’re hard to find. Is this where you eat lunch?”

“Oh, no. We can go home and grab something, if you’d like.” Marinette felt small looking up at Denny like this, despite being a good four inches taller than her; Denny looked intimidating and dark wherever she went.

She shook her head. “I packed. Diet specifications.” Then she turned to Alya and Adrien, asking curiously, “Who are you?”  
“I’m Alya, Marinette’s friend. Nice to meet you.” Alya flashed her a dazzling smile, holding her hand out to shake.

Denny looked at Alya’s hand, puzzled, before a look of realization dawned upon her face and she shook Alya’s hand firmly. “And you?”

Adrien held out his hand as well, gaze flitting over Denny as he took her appearance in. “My name is Adrien.”

“Hello, Alya, Marinette’s Friend, and My Name Is Adrien. Nice to meet you too. I’m Denny.” She smiled softly, and when she saw her joke was met poorly, she grinned a little more. “Hang with me, and I promise I will be making bad jokes more often.”

Adrien let out a “pfft,” rolling his eyes with no real malice. “Nino would like you.”

“Nino?”

“Another friend of ours,” Alya chimed in. “he’s not here right now, obviously.”

Denny looked over Marinette, easily and languidly tracing her from head to toe. “Noted,” she said, cocking her head inquisitively, but never taking her eyes off Marinette. “So, can I eat now? I have some stuff to do before I can.”

All three exchanged a look before shrugging. “Go ahead,” Adrien said, plopping down on a bench adjacent. “we’ve got time.”

“I already washed my hands, so…” she mumbled more to herself, taking a glucometer and a notebook out of her bag; she pricked her finger, laid the blood in the strip, and wrote down something. “That’s good, I guess. Anyway...” Denny smiled half-heartedly, stuffing her glucometer in her pocket and crumpling the bloody strip into a plastic baggie.

Alya leaned past Marinette, pointing at her pocket. “You’re—“

Denny waved her hand dismissively, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of all of us eating.” She paused, looking briefly upset before continuing, “I realize this isn’t the most sanitary place, but I don’t know where the nurse’s office is. Sorry,” she tacked on like an afterthought after making eye contact with a bewildered Adrien.

“No, yeah, that’s okay. But my lunch is at home,” Marinette said sheepishly, scratching the back of her head. “I’ll be right back to get it.”

She felt eyes burning a hole in her back as she left, and when Marinette turned back Denny was staring at her, head cocked to the side. 

“See you,” the girl said, blinking owlishly. “hurry back.”  
———  
When Marinette returned, Denny was regaling Adrien and Alya with what seemed to be childhood antics, waving her hands enigmatically.

“—why are you looking at me like that, stop! We were all reckless as kids— are you telling me you didn’t drop yourself down the stairs in baskets as kids? Y’all, it’s the funniest thing!” She laughed, eyes crinkling happily at the corners. 

“Listen, you put a blanket in a clothes basket, jump in, and then tip yourself down the stairs. Fun times guaranteed. Sometimes you could even do a flip!”

Alya looked horrified through her hysterical laughter, gasping fruitlessly for breath. “That is so stupid!” 

Denny grinned with pride.

It was Adrien who noticed Marinette first, waving her over as he stifled his giggles with his hand; “You’ve gotta listen to this.” 

And so Marinette sat, gazing intently at Denny— her food sat mostly untouched, not that she had much anyway. She nibbled on her own lunch as Denny wound up again, interrupting herself with hapless laughter; she finally managed to tell the story again with a relatively straight face, eyes wild and bright.

“I put a dent in the wall and sliced straight through the weird little webbing on my pinkie toe going down once— oh, man, I’m surprised I haven’t fallen to pieces I’m so dangerous.” She slapped a palm to her face, grinning wide and cocking her head mischievously. “Did I tell you about the time I nearly dropped a butcher knife on my foot?”

“Don’t!” Alya nearly shouted, and Denny looked hurt; she recoiled and looked mildly uncomfortable, face scrunching in a small frown. Alya continued quickly, “Please, I’m going to get abs from laughing so hard. Please. No more. Have mercy.”

The girl visibly relaxed at that, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Well, there’s uh, plenty more where that came from. But sure. I haven’t eaten anyway.” She stared down at her food and Marinette got the vague impression she wasn’t planning on eating anyway.  
———  
Adrien watched Denny and Nino argue with a bemused smile, shaking his head fondly; they were arguing about whether anime was a cartoon or a category of its own. He scoffed. The answer was obvious. Anime is not a cartoon. Obviously.

“—we don’t call animation from other countries anything other than a cartoon, so why should anime be special?” Denny was saying, hands splayed sassily on her hips. “Besides,” she continued, glaring at Nino when he tried to speak, “the word anime comes from japanime, which is just short for Japanese animation. So it’s not special! It’s just animation from Japan! And cartoons are animation. And a synonym for cartoon is animation, Nino, therefore you are biased and a _weeb!”_

She was yelling and gesturing wildly by the time she was done, but her big speech was broken up by laughter. “So, in conclusion, it is safe to say anime is not—“

“Denny.” Nino had clamped his hands upon her shoulders, staring very intensely and seriously in her eyes. 

She eyed his hands suspiciously, then placed her hands on his shoulders as best she could. “Nino.”

“Anime.” Denny nodded, eyes wide.

“ Is. Not.” Then she scowled. “Don’t you finish that sentence, Nino.”

“A.” He grinned broadly.

“Don’t do it!”

“Cartoon.”

Denny groaned loudly in mock disgust. “And here I thought you were worth saving! Except no, you are a fool who believes anime is not a cartoon, and you disgust me.” She pointed a accusatory finger at him, then yelped in surprise when Nino pulled her in for a crushing hug, finger and all.

“You, my lady, are a blessing.” He squeezed her tight, humming contentedly. Denny pat his back awkwardly, smothered into his chest. “I’ve never met someone who knows so much about anime, even if your opinions suck. The only other person I know who likes anime is Adrien!”

Said person waved.

Nino pointed even though she couldn’t see him, and Denny said incredulously, “Adrien?!” muffled by his shirt. She wiggled around in Nino’s arms, ready to fight him too, except she stilled when Marinette and Alya called out to them.

“Hi guys!” Alya chirped, and then soured a little when she saw Denny in Nino’s arms. “What’s going on here?”

“We were arguing about anime,” they said in unison, and Denny tacked on, “which is a cartoon.”

Nino only squeezed tight in response, smiling when she wheezed. “It is not a cartoon, and that is law. Anyway, I’m hugging her because I have never met anybody so educated about anime besides Adrien, and also because this was a trap.”

“A what?!” Denny shrieked, squirming fruitlessly against Nino’s chest. “What for?”

“So I can do this—“ Nino tightened his grip around her, and Denny groaned, muttering something about her bones. “—when you try to fight someone, namely me.”

“I won’t fight anyone, I swear!” She whined. She turned her head and caught Alya’s eye, mouthing, “help me!” and struggling to break free once more.

“Just bite him,” Alya chimed nonchalantly, and all heads whipped towards her.

“Do what now?” Nino asked shrilly, glancing worriedly down at the girl who was now passive-aggressively chomping her teeth at him.

Denny hummed, squinting. “That’s kind of kinky. I don’t think I like that.”

Alya, Marinette and Nino all flushed pink, and Nino shoved Denny into Adrien. “She’s all yours, A-dog,” he said, and still tinged with embarrassment, he grabbed Alya’s hand and walked a little ways away.

“What, no biting?” She teased, giggling when Nino yelled “shut up!” back. Then she peered curiously up at Adrien, cocking her head from side to side. “Are you going to hold me now too, _A-dog?_ Want me to bite?”

He cringed and backed away. “No biting, please.”  
Denny smiled, and turned to Marinette, wiggling her eyebrows. “Hmm? How about you, love?”

“N—no thanks!” She spluttered, holding her arms out like a barrier. “No biting for me please!” Her face still burned and Denny squinted her eyes, letting out a “hmm,” though with what emotion she couldn’t identify.

“Alright, then, ye salty dogs,” she said, plopping down in the ground unceremoniously. Marinette relaxed, letting out a quiet huff. _This girl is going to be the death of me,_ she thought. “You’re kinda weird,” she said, sitting down next to her. 

Denny gave her a obscure look, then a sly grin. “I like it like that,” she purred. Then she faced the street and immediately lost all interest in conversation.

Marinette exchanged a bewildered look with Adrien, who just shrugged.  
——  
Another day, another snarling American girl. 

Marinette saw her fall asleep three times in the span of five minutes, each time jolting awake before promptly falling back asleep again. She was grumpy in the mornings, voice low and gravelly with sleep and Marinette didn’t quite know why that made her heart skip a few beats. Or maybe she did. 

Either way, she wasn’t talking about it.

Marinette was watching her fondly now, watching her restlessly adjust herself on the desks. “She looks cold,” she muses to herself. “Maybe I should give her my jacket,” she eyes the gooseflesh standing at attention on Denny’s arms. “Hey, Alya. Denny is cold, what do I do?”

Alya shot her an incredulous, (albeit sleepy) affronted look that mirrored Denny’s scowl closely. “Give her a blanket.”

“I don’t have one!”

“Give her your jacket.” 

“What!” Marinette lowered her voice when she noticed the stares from other classmates, whispering vehemently, “I can’t do that! That’s embarrassing. You do it.”

“You’re the one who cares about her being cold! So do it yourself,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. “‘M not your messenger.”

“Pleeaaaassssee?” She begged, prodding her friend not so gently. “I’ll give you some macaroons and I won’t ask you ever ever ever again, please? For the macaroons? Alya?” 

Marinette’s eyes widened with curiosity as she watched Alya try her best to ignore her persistence, before growling with frustration, yanking Marinette’s jacket out of her hand, and throwing it at Denny’s resting form.

Naturally, she shot up like a bullet, hands scrabbling at the desk as she looked around wildly.

She rips the jacket off her head, holding it like it burned an arm’s length away. Denny scowls and whips around to look at Chloé, snarling, “Keep your shit to yourself, Bourgeois.”

Chloé sneers, whining, “That’s not mine! I would never wear something so ugly. That’s _hers_ ,” she says, and points to Marinette with considerable disgust.

Denny’s gaze flickers from Chloé to Marinette. Her eyes narrow infinitesimally, and she stares. “Y—you looked cold, so I, uh— you could— w—wear it, uh, you know, because you’re cold.” 

She drops the jacket to the floor and curls back up in her seat.

Nino leans back and whispers, “Nice one, Marinette.”

**Author's Note:**

> born out of a suggestion by a therapist and my bone deep desire to forget what that boy has done to me


End file.
